


On Losing At Cards

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Card Games, Forfeits, Gambling, M/M, Multi, the autobot version of heavy petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirage has a pretty good poker face. Optimus's is terrible, even with that mask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Losing At Cards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [femme4jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/gifts).



Mirage rearranged his cards thoughtfully as muffled giggles sounded from under the table. Optimus cleared his vents and shifted in his seat, and the giggling subsided. Mirage hid a smile behind his cards.

“All in,” he said, pushing his chips toward the center of the table.

Optimus tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Are you sure?”

“Call or fold, sir.” Mirage carefully crossed his legs. Someone tried to tickle behind his knee and he feinted a kick at the offender.

“Need I remind you what happened last time?” Optimus’s voice was calm and even. His vents weren’t even working hard, despite what had to be a heavy load on his systems. Primacy had its advantages.

Mirage leaned forward, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Optimus. Call. Or fold.”

“Hmm.” Optimus’s gaze dropped down to his cards again, engine rumbling at a register that had the under-the-table giggling again. “…I yield.”

Mirage’s smirk burst into full bloom as he flashed his cards - a dismal two data-keys. Optimus tipped his head back in a rich laugh. “Mirage, you _minx._ ” He dropped his cards on the table in return: four hubcaps, enough to beat Mirage if Optimus had chosen to call the spy’s bluff. “Good luck finding somewhere to plug in.”

“Don’t even pretend you don’t have enough ports to accomodate half the army, Prime.” Mirage got up and circled the table in a saunter to claim his prize. Optimus purred as Mirage straddled his thigh, clever hands roaming down his body until he found a port that could accomodate his plug. Optimus sought a kiss before he would surrender the port, though, which Mirage was only to happy to grant.

Connection established, Mirage slid gently down Optimus’s leg to join the rest of the Autobots who’d beaten their Prime at cards: Tracks, Fireflight and First Aid had claimed one of the Prime’s legs, while the other was being monopolized by Pipes and Jazz. Each had one of their own plugs firmly in one of Optimus’s ports; they writhed around his knees, trading touches and kisses and caresses as their Prime acted as a hub for them all. Mirage willingly surrendered to their insistent hands, leaning against their leader’s shin as he purred in tandem with the pulses of energy-pleasure- _connection_ rolling through them all.

Pounding feet in the hallway heralded the arrival of the next player: Hot Rod, skidding into the room like the entire ‘Con army was after him. “Am I too late?” he demanded breathlessly.

Chuckling, Optimus beckoned him to take his seat. Mirage settled into Jazz’s arms and Pipes’s groping hands as Hot Rod obeyed, giving the victors an excellent view of his finely-shaped legs. Optimus purred, happy anticipation threading to them through the connection.

_Going to lose on purpose again, sir?_ Mirage teased.

Optimus’s reply was warm with affection and humor. _Hush, you._


End file.
